


wild and precious

by dollsome



Category: The Durrells (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 14:36:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21078422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollsome/pseuds/dollsome
Summary: Louisa introduces Spiros to one of the family's new animals.





	wild and precious

**Author's Note:**

> I’m reading _My Family and Other Animals_ for the first time (good heavens, it is delightful) and just got to this part, and was so tickled by it that I had to do a little show-universe tribute. This one's for you, Achilles Durrell!
> 
> Set in between seasons 2 and 3. Title is from the Mary Oliver poem quoted below.

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.  
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down  
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,  
how to be idle and blessed ...

(Mary Oliver, “The Summer Day”)

\+ 

Louisa is waiting at the door when Spiros arrives. He’d been kind enough to agree to take her to the market this afternoon, but something more pressing has arisen. Now that she’s given up trying to fix her life through blonde-haired men, she’s committed herself to the little joys of everyday life on Corfu. There’s no one better to share little joys with than Spiros.

“Come here,” she says, unable to hold in her delight. She takes his hand, leading him into the house.

He furrows his brow. “You aren’t going to murder me, are you?”

Louisa throws a look over her shoulder at him.

“What? There are a lot of violent women around here these days. If a man isn’t careful, he might get stabbed.”

“You really shouldn’t make fun of poor Hugh.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He’s much less grumpy on the subject now that Hugh is back in England.

They stop in the sitting room. It’s blessedly empty for once, and cool despite the afternoon heat. Beams of sunlight sneak in around the edges of the drawn curtains.

“Lie down,” Louisa says.

Spiros gives her a doubtful look.

“Go on,” she ushers, gesturing at the floor. “On your back.”

His face all fond bafflement, he takes off his hat, sets it on a chair, and lies down on the rug obediently.

“Very good,” she says, then turns and leaves the room.

“Is this a joke?” she hears him call after her.

“No!” she calls back merrily, fetching a bowl of freshly picked strawberries from the kitchen.

When she goes back in, he’s rested his head upon his folded arms and looks rather like Margo bathing in the sun. (Minus radiating desperate-for-male-attention pheromones.)

Louisa picks out a particularly luscious strawberry from the bowl, then crouches down on her knees and places the fruit on Spiros’s chest. It looks especially vibrant against the white of his shirt.

“It would be less strange,” he says, “if you were trying to murder me.”

“Shh. Keep still.”

Her work done, she lies down beside him. He grins at her, happy to be confused. She grins back, then points across the room, guiding his attention.

Out comes the newest addition to the family.

Achilles the tortoise waddles out from under the sofa, moving as fast as a waddling thing can. Spiros’s face brightens at the sight, and Louisa puts a finger to her lips to prevent any exclamations. The animal hasn’t proven easily spooked yet (he lives here, after all), but she wants this to go perfectly.

Sure enough, the tortoise climbs up onto Spiros, unbothered by the fact that they’re perfect strangers, and helps himself to the strawberry.

Spiros bursts out laughing. Fortunately, the strawberry is fascinating enough that his new companion can’t spare any attention for fright.

“You aren’t afraid of tortoises, are you?” Louisa says, eyeing the sturdy claws. “I should have asked before.”

“Who is afraid of tortoises?”

“Leslie, I’d wager, ever since he fell asleep snacking and woke up to a face full of one. I wasn’t wild about it either when this one pulled that same trick on me in the middle of the night.”

“You sleep covered in strawberries?” Spiros teases.

She feels an inexplicable flutter at him thinking of how she might sleep. “Sadly, I don’t, so he tried to help himself to my nose.”

“Oh no,” Spiros says in dismay.

“Oh yes,” Louisa confirms. “No permanent damage, luckily.”

“I’m glad.” He reaches over to tap her nose, making her smile.

The movement is enough to motivate Achilles to scamper. He takes the rest of the strawberry and seeks refuge underneath the furniture.

“It must be a sad lot in life,” Louisa reflects, “to be a cuddly tortoise. He’s like a puppy, really, underneath that shell.”

“Then he’s lucky to have found the right home,” Spiros says wisely, “where people will understand him. Where did you find such a magnificent beast?” He looks at the pointy little tail that’s the only part of their friend not hidden by the sofa.

“Gerry got him from the Rose-Beetle Man,” Louisa explains. “Our family’s become favorite customers since I bought all his birds.” She smiles at the pointy tail. “We’ve decided to call him Achilles.”

“Well, of course,” Spiros says with good humor. “He’s very mighty.”

“Isn’t he? Larry tried to explain it being a reference to some logical paradox, but it was very boring, so the rest of us made the executive decision that he's named for the mythical warrior. He’s a bright little fellow. Gerry insists he’s learned his name already, although I think he’s just come to associate our voices with the promise of food no matter what we’re saying.”

“Still pretty bright,” Spiros acknowledges.

“I think so,” Louisa agrees. “It’s a good thing Roger isn’t here, because he’s been very jealous of all the treats that Achilles has been getting. He keeps trying to lick all the leftover fruit juice off of him, and then poor Achilles takes to his shell and there’s nothing we can do to coax him out again. Except--”

“More strawberries?” Spiros guesses.

Louisa nods with great seriousness. “Exactly.” She reaches across the small distance between them to touch his arm. “Don’t tell Gerry how much I like our Achilles. I’m determined to start putting my foot down about any more new animals.”

“Your secret is mine,” Spiros vows, patting her hand.

She likes the small ways his English strays from the beaten path. Things sound so much truer when he says them, somehow.

He leans over on his side, the better to face her. “You see, this is why I love coming to this house. There’s always a surprise waiting.”

She rests her head on her arm, mirroring him. “Oh, yes. Like the roof leaking, or a goat where you least expect it, or a seance with a fraudulent medium.”

“Or great food and great company,” he counters, grinning, and nods to where Achilles feasts on the strawberry.

She laughs. “Oh, Spiros. You always see things so beautifully.”

He shrugs a shoulder like it’s the simplest matter in the world. “You make it easy.”

She reminds herself that blushing is an irrational response to a compliment from a dear family friend. Still, she thinks she must redden a little. Based on Spiros’s expression, he doesn’t mind it.

“Why did you say it like that?” she asks to distract herself.

“Say what like what?”

“‘You see, _ this _is why,’” she imitates. “Like you were arguing.”

“No reason,” Spiros says after a moment, and Louisa realizes that it’s because he _ has _ been arguing. With his wife. About coming here.

She hates the idea of causing any discord between married people, but not quite as much as she loves lounging on the floor in the afternoon, eating strawberries with Spiros and tossing the especially fine-looking ones for Achilles so they can watch him scuttle after them. One has to take life’s innocent pleasures where one can find them. Surely anyone married to Spiros -- a person more lit up by the plain joy of living than anyone else Louisa’s ever known -- can understand that philosophy.

Still, a nagging feeling overtakes her when they reach the bottom of the bowl of strawberries. She looks up at Spiros, who’s made a meticulous trail of berries to lure Achilles across the rug. The sight of him sitting on her floor, all relaxed, is so strange and so pleasant that it does odd things to her heartbeat. It’s nothing new for him to be around, of course, but just now he seems so at home here. With her.

“Shall we head out, then?” she says, trying to sound less reluctant than she feels.

“Do you want to?” Spiros asks.

_ No. _She blames the unaccountable softness in his eyes.

“The market will still be there tomorrow,” she says, a decision that feels bolder than it is. “And you haven’t seen his reaction to lettuce _ or _grapes.”

“Then we must stay!” he says, jolly Spiros again. He gets up first and helps her off the floor. Together they venture out to the garden, hand in hand like giddy children, in search of more delicacies for a beloved tortoise.


End file.
